


Points of Origin

by MistressKat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Character Study, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-07
Updated: 2010-03-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 19:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/68262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To reach a stage in our existence where a new beginning is possible, we must live in moments of true present. To do that we must first accept our points of origin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> This is my personal canon for Rodney McKay. Those key points in his life that led him to where he now is. Majority of this is about Rodney's background, the pre-slash enters only in the last two chapters.
> 
> Betaed by [lorellipsis](http://lorellipsis.livejournal.com/) and [loobilou](http://loobilou.livejournal.com/).

When Rodney is nine years old, he learns that when something dies it means it is never coming back. 

 

***

 

Rodney comes across a skinny, half-feral cat digging for food in the trashcans on the street behind his house. It has a matted fur of a dirty colour that might have once been warm, chocolate brown and only one ear. Rodney names it Billy – he’s always wanted to have a friend named Billy, someone to get in trouble with… But since that doesn’t seem likely, he decides the cat will do. 

Rodney takes bowls of milk by the trashcans, until he reads that cow’s milk is not actually that good for cats and then he buys cheap tins of cat food with his pocket money. In the early evenings he comes to the back alley with his school bag and Billy’s food – silently and surreptitiously, so his dad won’t notice. He sits in the curb, the sun at his back and a book in his lap, and watches Billy eat.

Billy hisses and scratches when Rodney tries to stroke him but by that age he knows that it’s just because he’s afraid of being hit. 

Winter comes early that year. Rodney takes it upon himself to learn about the weather so he _knows _it‘s uncommonly cold for November. Billy starts to hang around the back street more often than usual and sometimes he’s already waiting for Rodney by the bins.

But not tonight. Rodney waits for an hour for Billy to show up and then he goes searching. He doesn’t have to go far. Two blocks away he finds a crumpled furry heap lying in a snowdrift. Rodney touches the cat’s head tentatively but no sharp claws lash at his hands this time. Billy’s breathing is shallow so Rodney picks him up and carries him back to their street because he seems so tired. He puts him down by the food bowl and when he still doesn’t move, Rodney scoops up some of the mushy stuff with his fingers and pushes it into the cat’s mouth. Nothing. He runs his hands over Billy’s flanks, counting his ribs one by one. He can feel a slight vibration under the dirty wet fur and at first he thinks Billy is growling at him but then he realises he’s _purring_, faint but clearly there. So Rodney cuddles him close to his chest and just sits there, listening to Billy purr, purr, purr until the snow soaks through his jeans and Billy falls silent.

Him mom finally comes looking for him when it gets dark. He is still crouched in the street holding Billy who has grown as cold as the night. She takes one look before promptly pulling Rodney to his feet and snatching Billy away. He tries to protest but her lips are pursed together in a hard line and the grip on the back of his jacket is unrelenting.

“For god’s sake Rodney, it’s just a dead cat, we got bigger things to worry about if your dad realizes you’ve been out this late.”

She puts Billy into one of the bins, her careful movements contradicting the harsh tone of voice.  
   
“Just a dead cat, nothing to get upset about.”


	2. Blind Spot

When Rodney is seventeen, he dies for the first time.

 

***

 

He comes home from school to find his dad sitting at the kitchen table. Strewn about him like rubbish, are Rodney’s personal possessions: advanced physics books, programming manuals (even though there isn’t a computer in the house) and tatty, ambiguous porn magazines with as many cocks as tits in them – all stolen.

The school bag falls to the floor unnoticed. His father’s breath reeks of booze as he grabs Rodney by the shirt labels and rams him into the wall. There are words, hard and accusing, like “thief”, “you think you’re so smart”, “faggot” and “no son of mine” All of them true and meaningless.

Rodney fights back but at seventeen he is still skinny and ridiculously uncoordinated so all it does is make things worse. After the first few blows the pain recedes and he curls up on the floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. His father doesn’t care for passive resistance. Rodney feels hands around his neck, fingers digging in and… Wow that hurts again. He opens his mouth wide, desperate for air, but there is none.

The last thing Rodney sees are his father’s eyes, dull and confused like he doesn’t quite know what he is doing.  __

Blackness comes like a benediction, dark waters lapping at the edge of his mind, slowly pulling him under. It’s not so bad he thinks and then…

 

***

 

When he wakes up, he’s in the hospital. Jeanie is crying at his bedside – which scares Rodney more than the dying did, because Jeanie never cries. Not since they were both very little. There is a drip attached to the back of his hand and a coppery taste of blood still lingers in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue at some point.

Mom is sitting in the corner of the room with a blank expression on her face and Rodney already understands that none of this ever happened and thus nothing will ever be mentioned.

The next day, the police come by and he tells them that he surprised a burglar. The house is certainly in a state that supports the theory and they ask no more questions.

He doesn’t ask what happened to his things – the things he stole – and everything is gone by the time he gets out of hospital. Rodney goes home for one purpose only – to pack some clothes. Then he catches the late train to the college and doesn’t look back. He never returns to the house.

And he never sees his father again.

 

***

 

Jeanie moves out a few months later. At first she visits frequently but then less and less. She wants to talk but Rodney can’t respond. Nothing happened – so what is there to talk about?

He gets a scholarship that sees him through university even though he can’t actually remember applying for one. The days are filled with physics and math, astronomy and computer studies, and it is all so beautiful, so pure that it becomes all he needs. There are other people around; lecturers and students and sometimes counsellors, but always on the periphery – grey and hollow, unable to compete with the brightness and clarity of the universe that opens up before him and within him.

Years go by like weeks. He gets drunk and occasionally he gets laid. But what he remembers most is the musty smell of the library, how bright the lab lights could be in the middle of the night and the almost constant craving for coffee. He gains one degree after another and they are all just a means to an end. What end, he doesn’t quite know yet but he figures that it too will become clear in time.

 

***

 

One evening he gets a phone call from Jeanie. Their father has finally done the only decent thing in his life and drank himself to death. Rodney listens to his sister talk about the funeral arrangements for two whole minutes before putting the phone down silently. He leaves the flat, gets into his car and drives straight to the college – and doesn’t leave the labs for three days. Somewhere at the back of his mind Rodney knows that when the paramedics shocked his heart back to life after the-thing-that-never-happened they hadn’t managed to resuscitate all of him.

And just like Billy, the part that died will never come back.


	3. Michael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this was written before 'Michael-the-Wraith' was introduced in the show. The name was a coincidence but I didn't want to change it.

When Rodney is twenty-eight, he decides that being alone is a small price to pay.

 

***

 

Work at the CITA is all consuming and he finally has the freedom to do as he pleases. In the lab Rodney’s word is absolute and the power-rush is good. The knowledge is even better and within his grasp. He is greedy – and that’s not only expected but _encouraged_. His research will change the world after all so they give him all the funds and personnel he can think to ask for.

But with the latest batch of new recruits comes something Rodney is not expecting. Although, unconsciously at least, it seems he _was_ missing it.

Michael is a lot younger than Rodney, barely in his twenties, but the way he corners him in the break room, pressing their bodies together, speaks of experience beyond his years.

Rodney is a bit uncomfortable with such an aggressive approach but lets himself be talked into going out anyway. Michael is good looking and not completely stupid (though he can’t quite remember what it is that the man does – something about Gamma bursts) and really, Rodney could do with a good fuck.

That night he shows up at the restaurant – late. Michael gets up to greet him and gone is the cock-sure seducer, replaced by a nervous young man practically stammering with relief at not being stood up.

The food is delicious and Rodney eats with relish. TV-dinners are good but a meal prepared by a French gourmet chef is nothing to be sneered at. Michael is asking all the right questions and in between forkfuls of a first-grade filet mignon Rodney explains why modern physics would be stuck in a rut if it weren’t for him.

Over the coffee, strong and bittersweet, he pauses for long enough to take stock of his dinner companion. Dirty blond hair, worn just a tad longer than acceptable and grey eyes filled with open hero-worship. His smile is eager and his fingers play with the glass as he sips the expensive wine and drinks in Rodney’s every word.

They get the cheque and Michael insists on paying. Rodney watches with disinterest as he flashes his credit cards and leaves an extensive tip for the waiter. He obviously has a lot of money but so has Rodney, just not usually on him.

Despite his earlier coyness Michael’s tongue is talented and impatient when they kiss outside his flat. When they move inside, Rodney makes it clear that he wants to be the one getting fucked and not the other way around. Michael seems surprised and after several unnecessary but somehow endearing checks that Rodney is really sure – that “truly he wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to… you know,” Michael finally turns him around, presses him against the couch and slips two lubed fingers into his ass. Rodney doesn’t like it slow but Michael refuses to hurry and breaks him down bit by bit until Rodney is shaking with need. When he finally pushes inside, Rodney is begging aloud, his cock hard and leaking. Michael’s hands are gentle on his hips and he presses tiny kisses onto his back as he rocks them slowly to a climax.

He’s had sex before but until that first time with Michael, Rodney McKay had never made love.

 

***

 

After six months they’re living together, working together and pretty much spending every waking – and sleeping – minute in each other’s company.

Rodney thinks he might be falling in love.

The research is progressing well. So well, in fact, that when Michael insists he take time off occasionally, Rodney lets himself be dragged away from the lab and into restaurants, scientific seminars and, God help him, walks in the park.

For the most part, however, the days pass in a comforting routine of work, canteen food, sex and sleep. Michael is almost as big a workaholic as him, although for slightly different reasons. Michael is ambitious, not just for recognition in his field like Rodney, but for “power and position where the real decisions are made, think about all the possibilities it would mean for the research, for us!” Rodney doesn’t completely understand but thinks that yes, perhaps it would be a good thing.

Until one evening he changes his mind about doing an all-nighter and goes home early, only to find Michael in bed with Dr. Langley, the project director.

Rodney moves out even though, technically, it’s his apartment. He resigns without explanation, without delay and without regret. There is grim satisfaction to be had in the way the aforementioned director begs and pleads him to stay, but it doesn’t last long.

“Come on Dr. McKay, we’re all professionals here. You can’t let this… this unpleasant incident make you abandon your research or your team like this.” Langley is pacing up and down in Rodney’s office, clearly unnerved by the uncharacteristic silence. He doesn’t understand that yes, Rodney expresses his emotions loudly and vocally but at the moment there simply aren’t any feelings to yell and snark about.

“It was nothing, Michael was only interested in advancing his career, it didn’t mean anything. The man’s a slut, he’s slept with half the staff here! I was never going to give him that promotion he was after.”

Rodney puts down the folder he’s holding and rams his fist into Langley’s face. The man staggers back, more out of surprise than any real force, clutching his nose in pain. They stare at each other silently for a minute before Rodney grabs his things, awkwardly – as his hand is stinging like a son-of-a-bitch – and shoves his way out past the gawping lab assistants. Guess he can forget about getting a good reference now.

Michael hears about it and somehow tracks him down in the cheap anonymous motel he’s been not-sleeping at for the past few nights. He is giddy and almost jubilant in his belief that Rodney will take him back, that Langley’s bloodied nose is a sign of Rodney’s everlasting love.

It is not. Rodney hasn’t hit anyone since… Well, he won’t think about that. However, now he’s very close to using his fists twice within a few days. That scares him badly and the relief of finally feeling _something _is so great that he manages to stand his ground for a full five minutes, spouting long, complex and highly vicious insults at his former lover. But in the end there just aren’t enough words in the world to make a difference, so he shuts the door in Michael’s face and turns the TV up loud to drown out the lack of apologies.

The next morning Rodney digs out a frayed business card, handed to him years earlier by a man in a dark suit. Unsurprisingly, the motel phone is out of order. It’s raining outside and his shoes make wet slurping sounds as he crosses the parking lot to the nearest payphone. The booth is humid and disgusting and smells like a mid-point between need and shame.

With numb fingers Rodney places a collect call to the U.S. Government. It’s time to move on.


	4. Outside

By the time Rodney is 34, he has learned that the universe is fucking huge and that he doesn’t know half of the things he says he does.

He keeps saying them anyway. 

 

***

 

He is working on the Stargate Program and for the first time in his life he feels that this is what it’s all about. The call comes late at night – his expertise is needed at the SGC, the flight leaves in a half hour. He’s ready in ten minutes and if there is a spring in his step as he walks towards the hangar, then at least there isn’t anyone to see it. 

Rodney opens his laptop as soon as the plane levels out and starts working on saving the day. And if his mind strays from power calculations to thoughts of finally meeting the lovely Dr. Carter, well where’s the harm in that?

But the problem turns out to be something he can’t fix. Or he could, but is not allowed. Instead time and resources are wasted on trying to save a dead man – like the life of one alien is more important than, say, the survival of an _entire planet_. 

It is beyond him. He tries to explain the situation calmly and when that fails he rants and raves, but the only ones agreeing with him are people who don’t matter.

Samantha just looks at him with sadness and disgust in her eyes and Rodney doesn’t understand; it isn’t supposed to be like this – his big break. 

Then somehow O’Neill beats the answers out of a Goa’uld, Jackson talks a DHD from the Russians and Carter puts it all together in complete disregard to everything Rodney says. And, against all logic, they have a miracle in their hands.

Rodney may not be the most astute observer of human behaviour but the way everyone keeps avoiding his gaze makes it abundantly clear he is no longer welcome. He watches SG-1 close ranks and take back his one almost-allay-maybe-more. 

And really, it isn’t so much that he wants Samantha Carter than that he wants to _be _Samantha Carter. She has a quiet certainty about her, which stems from knowing exactly who she is and being exactly where she is supposed to be. She and Colonel O’Neill and Dr. Jackson and that big alien guy Teal’c (who Rodney was ready to write off as an acceptable loss and whose eyes now follow him around wherever he goes) belong together like Rodney never has with anyone.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. Samantha is beautiful and brilliant and someone else’s. Unattainable. Like the universe – the real one, the one outside books and computer models – that glows and beckons behind the steel doors of Cheyenne Mountain Complex.

When he finally leaves, the gates slide shut with barely a hiss. The sound reverberates through him all the way to Siberia.


	5. Warmth Is a State of Mind

The day Rodney turns 36 he gets the best birthday present ever.

 

***

 

The Antarctica base is amazing. The Ancient technology boggles the mind and the whole experience is like a great big Science Fest where Rodney can gorge himself without restraint.

He doesn’t like the cold though.

It nibbles at his flesh like a hungry animal until his hands are blue and aching, his fingers curled over the keyboard, too stiff to type.

Times like this he goes in search of coffee and warmth and usually ends in the infirmary. He hasn’t actually suffered frostbite yet, but it doesn’t hurt to check.

Carson sees him hovering in the doorway. Instead of the usual ‘_Really, Rodney, just use some gloves. I don’ have time for yer hypochondria’ _followed by a quick but thorough examination of his hands, he finds himself being dragged into the office and unceremoniously plonked on a chair.

He watches with growing confusion as Carson rummages around the desk, opening drawers and shoving papers around. Finally the Scot grabs a thick brown envelope, with a triumphant “There ye are!” and pushes it into Rodney’s hands.

“Happy Birthday!”

Rodney didn’t think anyone knew, but… Of course, medical records.

He stares at the package suspiciously before tearing it open.

Inside there are hundreds of computer printouts filled with indecipherable diagrams, charts and tables. Or perhaps not so indecipherable after all…

The four letters A, T, C and G march across the pages in various combinations and Rodney may not be particularly up to date in the more fuzzy sciences like, say, biology, but he can still recognise…

“DNA-sequences? What is this?”

Carson beams at him like a kid at Christmas, all flashing teeth and twinkling eyes. It’s quite ridiculous really. Rodney feels an answering smile tugging at his own lips.

“That’s you, Rodney. Well, a part o’ you anyway. And _that’s_ the Ancient Gene marker.”  Carson leans close and leafs through the papers in Rodney’s hand. “And this here…” He points to a column that doesn’t look like anything special to Rodney. “This is you with the Ancient gene incorporated into yer DNA!”

Carson is rocking on his heels with barely contained excitement. Rodney feels like a particularly stupid child in front of a class.

“But… I don’t have the Ancient Gene. You said so yourself!”

“That’s right, you don’t. But you could. Quite soon.”

It takes a few seconds to sink in. When it does, it’s like a bright flash of possibilities searing through his brain. Somehow this here is the most miraculous thing ever, more exciting than intergalactic travel, better than getting a Nobel Prize.

Rodney is almost afraid to believe it. He looks up, the papers crumpling in his white-knuckled grip, and the world tilts just a little.

In Carson’s eyes there is a promise he can trust.


	6. Moments of True Present

This year, Rodney is 37 years old.

This year he rewrites the laws of physics and does ten impossible things everyday using nothing but spite and desperate need. 

Atlantis is a high-maintenance lover. Rodney strokes and coaxes, and pays for every other favour with someone else’s life until she lets him in, still cool and in control but more merciful each day.

At nights he walks through the silent corridors and thinks about shields and transporters and how the Ancients were not gods, just technologically advanced. One man’s magic is another man’s toaster. 

And all around him the ghosts of Atlantis sigh and sorrow, but he will not look, will not listen. Tomorrow there are things to do.

Carson’s gift opens doors and unlocks secrets and when he finally collapses on the bed, it turns off the lights and envelopes him in a forgiving darkness. 

 

***

 

This year Rodney doesn’t die. 

He gets shot, knifed and stranded in an event horizon. He pisses off so many people, most of them armed and dangerous, that no one is more surprised than himself that he doesn’t end up a pile of bullet-riddled human remains in a corner somewhere. He endures nano-viruses, super-storms and farmers with penchant for nuclear bombs and a hard-on for world domination. He does it all screaming and bleeding and scared shitless, but he doesn’t die.

Instead, this year Rodney learns to live. 

The biggest surprise of Pegasus Galaxy is not the flying city or the Puddle Jumpers, or even the life-sucking aliens. No, what really amazes Rodney at times, is the people.

The other scientists aren’t like any Rodney has worked with before. And _a few_ of them may even know more than him about _a couple _things – although, if asked, Rodney will deny it to the bitter end. 

Zelenka gives as good as he gets, but when they stop arguing the two of them can take the universe apart and put it back together – better than it was before. Unlike Radek, Kusanagi just stands there and lets Rodney rip her to pieces. He thinks the woman’s a total pushover until she demonstrates, very politely, how the Ancient device in question does exactly what she says it will – and not what Rodney thought it would. Simpson and Jokiluoma, Langguth and even Kavanagh, all of them exasperating and brilliant and so fucking imperfect. It’s the best damn team Rodney’s ever worked with.

Sheppard teaches him about guns and hand-to-hand combat. He forces Rodney to take up running, plays “prime, not-prime” with him and doesn’t accept no for an answer even though it takes three weeks before Rodney agrees to fly a Puddle Jumper. And he always comes back the next day no matter how much Rodney snarks. 

There is such trust in Elizabeth’s eyes. It is calculated trust yes, but no less real for it. She uses silences instead of words and Rodney can respect that, can really get behind a leader like her.

Rodney has never been as young as Ford. The man smiles and grins and smirks his way through gunfights, injuries and attacks. He annoys Rodney a lot until the day he becomes someone – _something _– else and starts to scare him. Ronon doesn’t smile or laugh or even talk that much, although sometimes Rodney catches him watching them all and thinks that maybe some day soon he will. 

They are off-world, waiting for something or other to show up, when Teyla waves him over and points out a bush full of hard, yellow berries that taste sour but are apparently very nourishing. Rodney spits them out and bites into a choc-chip powerbar, but listens with half an ear when she explains about leaf-shape and colour variations.

After that the botany lessons become a habit and Rodney now recognises over twenty edible citrus-free plants and fruits on eight different planets. He has a nasty suspicion that the way Ronon and Teyla keep bringing up knives and snares means he is about diversify to animals. 

 

***

 

Rodney never thought he would love so many people. 

Sometimes, when he sits down for lunch in the Mess, he gets overwhelmed by them – chattering and vivid, and so painfully present. The food turns to ashes in his mouth, dark spots dancing at the edges of his vision and he thinks: I can’t, I can’t. His heart beats deep and fast, expanding impossibly to enclose the whole city within itself and he’s never known, never believed, there was room for so many.

And then Carson drops his tray next to Rodney’s, the warmth of him oddly calming. He isn’t Rodney’s responsibility the way everyone else is, doesn’t need to be saved. He just sits there, eating his dinner and talking about Lieutenant Shaw’s broken leg and how the recently established Atlantis football – sorry soccer – league is doing, while Rodney breathes… In-out, in-out, until his heart is mostly his own again. 

 

***

 

Today Rodney does a lot of things. All of them important, but some more so than others. 

He spends the morning on his back under a control panel, sorting through dozens of malfunctioning power crystals and thinking about learning to fight and run and survive long enough to do both. He goes off-world and takes readings, bites his lip and stands still while the local medicine-man draws a blessing on his chest with coloured mud. He has meetings and brilliant ideas and shouting matches. He looks over Zelenka’s work just to annoy him, steals pudding from unsuspecting Marines and writes an article on wormhole physics that will never be read by more than a dozen people. And understood by even fewer.

In the evening, Rodney stands on a balcony – leaning against Atlantis, holding her up even as she does the same for him. He thinks about Carson’s eyes, blue and clear like the night sky, and his hands, checking him for injuries, cleaning the paint off. 

The city is quiet around him as he makes his way past closed doors and empty offices; its occupants safe and asleep at least for tonight. Rodney knows that if it comes to that – and it may yet – he would readily die for them all. But he will do something more.

He will live. 

Turning the final corner he enters the infirmary. The lights are low and Carson doesn’t notice him until he’s standing right by his desk, casting a shadow across it.

“Hey.” 

Carson looks up, a bit startled and a lot tired, but the smile spreading across his face is easy and relaxed. It invites Rodney to take a seat and stay for a lifetime. They talk long into the night, about research projects and new gossip and the best place to get drunk in Toronto.

Between words there are moments of stillness where Rodney thinks nothing, does nothing, _is _nothing but himself. Slowly, things old and ugly are laid to rest, making room for something new to take root and grow. And for now, he is utterly _here_; true and whole and not alone.

Yes, today Rodney has done a lot of important things. None more so than this.


End file.
